


Nightmares

by SqueakGirl



Series: Perchance to Dream [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Mojo, Dreams, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Mark of Cain, Nightmares, Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 06:06:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3164099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SqueakGirl/pseuds/SqueakGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Mark of Cain continues to plague Dean with nightmares. So disturbed is he by his nightly visions that he calls Castiel in the early hours of the morning seeking help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first Supernatural fanfic as well as my first attempt at writing in the present tense. 
> 
> This is one of three in my short series called Perchance to Dream which explores dreams, visions, and nightmares of Team Free Will. Please feel free to check out the other works.

Dean listens to the dial tone and the line on the other end ring three times before he hangs up without letting it go through. He stares at his phone, watching the ‘Call Ended’ phrase flash on screen with Castiel’s name below it. Sitting up in bed, Dean places his phone back on his bedside table and flicks off the lamp. 

He doesn’t lay back down, but rather sits there with the covers tangled about his legs, his left hand holding onto his right arm just below the elbow, sweat collecting on his brow.

A nightmare isn’t worth Castiel’s time, Dean convinces himself. But before he can settle back down, his phone goes off. He watches it light up, humming on vibrate and moving slowly across the wooden surface of his nightstand. 

He lets it ring before leaning over and snatching it up. Castiel’s name is blazoned in green on the touchscreen. 

He hits ‘Accept’ and barks, “What?”

The line is quiet for only a moment before Castiel speaks, “You called me.”

“Must have rolled over my phone in my sleep,” Dean lies, resting his back against the bed’s headboard.

“Dean.” Castiel only says his name, but Dean knows there’s a weight to it. A weight somewhere between exasperation and concern. Dean suddenly can’t find it in himself to lie. Not to Cas.

“Okay, I tried calling, but hung up,” Dean explains, he turns his bedside lamp back on. “It’s nothing, man.”

“Dean, it’s two-thirty in the morning.” This wasn’t an accusation, but more of a statement of fact. “Why would you be calling me at this hour?”

Dean runs a hand over his face. He looks down at the Mark of Cain on his right arm, half in the light from his bedside lamp and half in darkness. 

Taking a deep breath, Dean says, “I had another nightmare.”

A pause from the other end of the line, then: “Tell me.”

“So, uh, it’s about Sam,’ Dean begins. He eyes the door to his bedroom as if expecting his brother to walk in at the sound of his name. 

“Your last one was about Sam,” Castiel notes. “Was it the same?”

Dean leans his forehead into his free hand. “No.”

“What happened?” Castiel urges. 

“I – uh – I had the Blade,” Dean says. His voice shakes. “And this time, Sam…Sam didn’t outrun me.”

Dean switches the phone to his other hand and swings his feet out of bed. He doesn’t stand, but just sits there on the edge, waiting for Castiel to respond.

“Are you okay, Dean?” Castiel asks. Dean can hear an engine starting in the background, and the sound of cars speeding in the distance filters through the phone.

Dean wants to say he’s fine, but it’s Castiel, so he can’t. “No,” he manages to croak.

“You haven’t hurt Sam, Dean,” Castiel reassures him. “You would never hurt him.”

Dean doesn’t answer. He flexes his fingers on his left hand and remembers how in his dreams that same hand had held his little brother down while his right swung the ancient blade down.

“I don’t trust myself, Cas,” Dean confesses. “I keep thinking – I keep thinking I’m gonna wake up from one of these dreams. And I ain’t gonna be in my bed. I’m gonna be standing over Sam’s –“

“Dean….”

“Don’t,” Dean growls. “Just don’t.”

“I’m driving back to the Bunker,” Castiel informs him and then the line goes dead. Dean looks at his phone watching “Call Ended” flash across his screen for a second time.

Castiel drives for about two hours straight and arrives to find Dean sitting in the Bunker’s kitchen, nursing a half drunk bottle of whiskey. Another empty bottle rests at Dean’s elbow. Without a word, Castiel takes the bottle from Dean and replaces the stopper on it. He sets it on the kitchen counter and then removes the empty bottle and throws it in the trash. Dean doesn’t say anything, but just sits with his head bent, staring at his hands. He’s wearing the same jeans he wore the day before and a wrinkled black t-shirt. The Mark of Cain is red and ugly just below his shirt sleeve.

“Dean?” Castiel kneels down next to Dean, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Dean, are you okay?”

“Sam’s still asleep in his bed,” Dean says. He’s still staring at his hands. “I checked on him. He was asleep.”

“That’s good,” Castiel replies. He places his hands gently under Dean’s arms and helps him to stand. “You should be in bed as well.”

Dean allows Castiel to guide him through the Bunker and back to his bedroom. 

“I’m not sleeping,” Dean mumbles, staring at his empty bed. 

Castiel doesn’t answer, but continues to lead Dean to the bed. Without protest, Dean sits down on the left side of the bed. Castiel joins him.

“I can’t sleep,” Dean says.

“Perhaps you should take some medication then? Something to help you sleep?” Castiel suggests, rubbing soothing circles into Dean’s back. Castiel had seen humans do this to one another when someone was ill or scared. He hopes the gesture will work now.

Dean shakes his head. “I mean I won’t sleep,” Dean corrects. “If I don’t sleep, then I won’t kill him.”

Castiel sighs. “Dean, you’re human, you can’t go without sleep.”

“Like hell, I can,” Dean grunts stubbornly, but his eyes are closed. Castiel stands up and coaxes Dean to lie down. 

“If you rest now, I will make sure your dreams are nightmare free,” Castiel offers. Dean peers up at him curiously as if seeing him there for the first time.

“What do you mean?” Dean’s words are slurred, but Castiel understands. 

As he pulls the covers up to Dean’s chest, Castiel explains, “I can enter dreams, Dean. You remember? I’ve visited your dreams before.” 

“I was fishing,” Dean mumbles. “I haven’t dreamed of that in ages. Nightmare city, twenty-four-seven in here now.” Dean knocks on his temple. 

“I can change that, if you’ll allow me,” Castiel says, sitting down on the edge of the bed. 

“And see me stabbing you in the chest,” Dean scoffs, turning on his side away from Castiel. “I think I’ll just stick to Plan A.”

“Dean, you can’t go without sleeping,” Castiel insists, grabbing Dean’s shoulder and rolling him back over. Dean just stares up at him.

They don’t speak for a few moments. Castiel wonders if Dean were sober now, if he would have allowed them to be so close.

“Let me in,” Castiel pleads. 

Dean doesn’t catch his eye as he says, “Okay.”

The last thing Dean sees before sleep washes over him is Castiel’s warm hand coming down to rest on his forehead. It was as if Dean were some sick child and Castiel was checking his temperature.

When Dean comes to be aware of his surroundings again, he’s sitting on a limestone bench in the middle of a garden overflowing with flowers of every color imaginable. Apple trees blossom in the distance and a fountain bubbles serenely in the center of red stone path.

“Is this okay?” Comes a voice beside him, and Dean jumps. He whips around only to find Castiel sitting beside him on the bench. The angel gives him a nervous smile.

“I’ve taken the liberty of manipulating your subconscious a bit so that you’re dreaming of something pleasant,” Castiel continues. He watches as a fat bumblebee dips into a nearby flower, causing it to bend with its weight. “Is that alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, Cas, it’s fine,” Dean breathes.

The two sit there for a few moments, basking in the calm of the garden. Castiel hums to himself and smiles. Dean wrings his hands, glancing out of the corner of his eye at the angel sitting next to him. Every now and then, Dean clenches a hand over his right arm where the Mark hides.

In the middle of the garden the fountain splashes playfully.

“I put koi in there,” Castiel notes, nudging Dean gently with his elbow and nodding at the fountain. Dean flinches as Castiel’s shoulder touches his right arm. “Dean?” Cas turns his gaze on the man.

“I just keep waiting for it to change,” Dean whispers, looking at the ground.

“It won’t,” Castiel insists. “I won’t let it.”

But just as Castiel speaks, the sound of the fountain changes to resemble pouring rain hitting pavement and glass. Sounds of sirens and screeching tires, horns and the bustle of city life echoes around them. Castiel frowns at the fountain. He gets to his feet.

The sky above is dark.

“Dean?” Castiel turns around. Dean sits hunched over with his fingers digging into his hair. Castiel moves to his side, but not before actual rain begins to pelt the ground around them.

Half the garden disappears and a brick-walled alleyway has taken its place. Dean no longer sits on a limestone bench, but a plastic milk crate. Water puddles around them as the dark sky above opens up to spill a deluge of bitter cold rain. Pawn shop and bar signs flash in the distance, the warm pastel flowers of the garden disappearing to be replaced by the stark, frigid colors of these neon advertisements.

Castiel kneels beside Dean, grabbing onto the man’s shoulder. He shakes him.

“Dean, stop, it’s okay,” Castiel says, moving in front of Dean. He tries to catch Dean’s gaze. “Let me take back control of the dream.” 

A familiar engine rumbles on the street at the end of the alley. Castiel looks up to see the Impala gleaming under the neon lights. Sam Winchester exits the driver’s side, holding a piece of paper in his left hand. His right arm is in the old sling. Sam moves out of sight of the alleyway.

Castiel turns his gaze back to Dean and catches the man staring at him – with two solid black eyes. 

Jumping back instinctively, Castiel hits the alleyway wall behind him. Dean stands up, and the First Blade is in his right hand. The Mark shines as brightly as the neon signs above.

“Dean, no!” Castiel rushes forward and grabs a hold of the other. The remnants of the garden bloom behind Castiel as he tries to focus the dream to his wishes. Behind Dean, the rain soaked alleyway creeps closer, withering flowers and suffocating plants as dirty bricks grow from out of the gloom. 

Castiel stands with his arms around Dean, and Dean doesn’t move, but the angel can feel the First Blade pressing against his side. Dean laughs and the Blade inches deeper.

“Move,” Dean growls into Castiel’s ear. 

“No.” Castiel grits his teeth and pushes Dean against the alleyway wall. He scrambles for the hand that holds the First Blade, but Dean swings it down, and Castiel finds himself staring at his own severed hand laying in a greasy puddle. 

Dean howls and drops the blade, covering his face. He falls to his knees still screaming. Castiel is at his side in an instant, shoving his arm out for Dean to see. The angel has reattached his hand in an instant.

“Dean, it’s only a dream. See, I’m fine,” Castiel whispers, placing his hand near Dean’s face. The man stops struggling, but places a hand over his eyes as if blinded by a light.

“Hell, Cas, I’m sorry,” Dean mumbles into his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Castiel helps Dean to stand. “It’s just a dream. You didn’t mean it.”

“I wanted to hurt Sammy. I hurt you,” Dean rambles on, his hand still covering his eyes. Castiel gathers his strength and begins reorganizing the dream world again. Grass grows up between the pavement and bricks, and the rain stops. The sound of the garden fountain fills the air.

“Sammy’s okay?” Dean questions. 

Castiel regrows the flowers just as he’d regrown his hand. They’re strangely less natural looking and tinged with a neon glow.

“Sam is fine,” Castiel reassures. He pulls Dean down to sit with him. They rest on the new grass with the stone fountain at their backs. The water splashes freely again, but the pool appears a bit murkier than it had before. 

Sunlight shines around them. It’s weak, however, as if filtered through dirty panes of glass. The bumblebees are all gone.

“I didn’t mean it,” Dean is saying. Castiel wraps his arm tighter around Dean, pulling him close. Dean rests his head against Castiel’s shoulder. He hasn’t removed his hand from covering his eyes.

“Dean, you can look again. The garden’s back.” Castiel tries to move Dean’s hand, but the other jerks away.

“Don’t,” Dean warns. “They could still be black.”

Dean and Castiel sit together not speaking, letting the fountain’s babbling fill their silence. Castiel keeps his focus, preventing the beautiful dream world he’s built from shattering again. He wonders how much of the dream’s brief shift to the alleyway was caused by Dean’s subconscious or a side effect of the Mark.

After what seemed like forever, Dean lowers his hand from his face. His eyes are still pressed shut. 

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says, turning his head slightly towards the angel.

“Yes?” 

“I’m gonna open my eyes now,” Dean explains. “T-tell me what they look like.”

Castiel turns to face Dean. A few seconds tick by and Dean slowly opens his eyes. He blinks in the filtered sunlight, squinting around him.

Castiel smiles. “They’re green.”

Dean sets his mouth in a thin line and nods solemnly. He blinks several more times, turning away from Castiel as he does.

“I’m messed up, man,” Dean says. “I’m so messed up.”

“We will fix this, Dean. Together. You, Sam, and I will find a way to make it right,” Castiel assures, pulling Dean closer to him. Dean still refuses to look in Castiel’s direction. “I promise.”

“You just gotta take me out, Cas,” Dean starts, and Castiel knows he’s referring to that request he made some weeks ago at the restaurant. _If I go darkside you gotta take me out,_ he had asked. Don’t let him become that monster again. 

Castiel cuts him off. “No, Dean. You are not beyond saving.”

“You say that like you believe it,” Dean laughs sadly.

“I do.”

“Well good for you, Cas, but I don’t.”

“You have always been stubbornly pigheaded,” Castiel counters. “But if I say we will find a solution, we will.”

Dean turns to look at Castiel. He’s met by an intense and penetrating stare. Dean’s stomach flips not uncomfortably, and he bows his head, breaking their gaze.

The sun above breaks through its filter, and the flowers are pastel and soft once more. A few bumblebees drift lazily into view.

“You do that?” Dean asks.

Castiel smiles. “No.”

Dean smiles too. “Okay, then.”

Dean rests his head back on Castiel’s shoulder, and the two remain that way until Dean awakes from his dream in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Please feel free to leave a comment. I truly appreciate any feedback or writing critiques.


End file.
